An Unlikely Diagnosis
by Batman'sBeauty18
Summary: A House gets sick fic kinda. Wilson, Cuddy, Cameron, Chase, and Foreman struggle to diagnose a rapidly declining House, but the cause if his symptoms is the last reason they would expect. Strong HouseWilson friendship, as well as Cuddy and the ducklings.
1. Another Day

**Title: An Unlikely Diagnosis**

**Author: BatmansBeauty18**

**Rating: K+ (slight swearing)**

**Summary: A House gets sick fic (kinda). The reason he doesn't feel too hot is the last one you'd expect.**

**Archive: Ask first.**

**Disclaimer: If House was mine he would be dating my mom and Chase and Wilson would be painting my toenails. They are not. Obviously. Unfortunately. Therefore, they are not mine.**

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**Another Day**

House woke up feeling very shitty. There was no other way of putting it. His leg throbbed, his chest ached, and he felt a dull burn with every breath he inhaled. He eagerly reached over his bed to grab his bottle of Vicoden. After taking a few of the little pills dry, he leaned back into bed and tried to fall back asleep. Unfortunately, Dr. Lisa Cuddy had other ideas. The caller ID on his phone rang through the house, declaring that "Cuddy, Lisa" was indeed trying to reach him. He considered smothering himself with his pillow and just putting himself out of his misery, but refrained from doing so. It would spoil the whole fun of it because he would not even get to see the shocked expressions on Wilson, Cuddy, and his duckling's faces.

With a long, slow sigh he snatched the phone from his bedside. Hitting the talk button, he forced his voice to speak in a careful monotone.

"I'm sorry, but this number is not accepting calls at this time. Please try again later. Beep." House was about to hang up, satisfied that he had adverted a crisis when he heard Cuddy's unmistakable screech through the earpiece.

"I swear House, if you hang up on me I will personally ensure that your rights to the handicapped parking spot are revoked." Sighing in frustration, House brought the handheld phone back up to his ear.

"And what are you doing up so early Dr. Cuddy? I thought you would still be recovering from your romp with that Mexican prostitute. Don't think I didn't see what you were wearing."

"I told you, it was a tennis out-fit. It's lycra, not spandex!"

"I see, so your Mexican prostitute likes tennis. I wonder how many uses you two can find for a tennis racket."

House swore that he feel Cuddy's blush radiating through the telephone. He could certainly here her loud sigh of exasperation, and though for a moment he might have actually lucked out and she was going to hang up on him. Unfortunately, someone seemed determined to make this day as miserable as possible.

"You're not getting me off the phone that easily. I just called to remind you that the clinic is closing early today, so you need to come in earlier and get your hours in, otherwise its double for tomorrow."

House pressed the off button on the phone and leaned back against his headboard. He seriously considered just not going in and pulling double duty tomorrow, but refused to give Cuddy the satisfaction. With another long, drawn out sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. For a moment the room spun crazily, and it took House a second to get the room to stop spinning. Once it did, he managed to choke down a cup of coffee, get dressed in something halfway decent, and limp out to his motorcycle. He hopped on and stuck the key in the ignition. Gunning the engine, he took of towards the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

House entered the tall building of the hospital, and strode towards the elevator. He stepped in and only then noticed that Wilson was standing next to him.

"What are you doing here so early? I didn't think that anything other then Cuddy stripping on the roof could bring you in this early." Wilson asked him in confusion.

"You don't think Cameron stripping would bring me in?"

"Its not that, I just don't think Cameron would ever strip."

"And you think Cuddy would?"

"Yes...I mean no...I mean more then...oh forget it."

Wilson stopped talking and carefully studied House. Now that he noticed it, House seemed much paler then normal, and his banter wasn't as cutting as it usually was. It was then that Wilson noticed a slight hitch to House's breathing, like it was painful to inhale. House also seemed to be carrying himself stiffer then usual, not only taking weight off his bad leg, but also standing slightly hunched over as if his chest bothered him. Only Wilson's closeness with House allowed him to notice these small things, to anyone else, even other doctors, it would have passed unnoticed. Even now, Wilson was not sure if House was sick, injured, hung over, or tired. With House it was always impossible to tell.

**Reviewing makes me very happy...**


	2. Diagnosis A

**A/N: I'm so happy with the amount of reveiws I got so quickly that I'm going to go ahead and post the next chapter. Woo-hoo!**

_Huge thanks to Carrie, Rose12345, Dapper, and Dr. Fantabulous for reviewing!_

**Diagnosis A**

"Are you okay?" Wilson decided to take a leap and ask the dreaded question.

House glared at Wilson, but his glare possessed little of its normal potency. It was that that fully convinced Wilson something was wrong.

"No witty retort? No scathing remark? Now I know something's wrong. Is it your leg?" Wilson really was worried.

Once again House ignored Wilson.

"What's your temp?" Wilson asked casually, hoping that his non-invasive tone might persuade House to open up slightly.

Thankfully for House, the elevator opened at exactly that second. House moved quickly to step out, but apparently tried to move too quickly. The room once again started to spin, and House was thrown off balance. Only Wilson's arm behind his back prevented him from falling backwards. House pulled himself together and started to walk forward. Wilson placed a hand on House's shoulder and stepped in front of him.

"What's going on?" Wilson asked more forcefully.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Wilson looked at House in disbelief.

"You nearly fall on your ass and you expect me to believe that you're fine? Try again." Wilson was determined he would get something out of House.

"I didn't have time to eat anything this morning, and I didn't eat last night. Its low blood sugar, that's it." House reached into his pocket and took two more Vicoden, realizing that Wilson was studying him closely.

Wilson sighed. "Go to your office and lie down before you fall down. I'll grab you something to eat from the cafeteria and I'll tell Cuddy you'll be down to the clinic in an hour."

With a last look back, Wilson reluctantly turned and headed towards the cafeteria.

House was glad to have finally gotten rid of Wilson. He limped back to his office, going slowly to make sure he did not do a face plant in the middle of the hallway. He entered his office and immediately laid down on his couch. He took a few slow, painful breaths and was surprised to notice that just the short walk down the hall had left him feeling breathless. He took yet another Vicoden, wincing as it burned his throat.

Wilson walked back into Houser's office quietly, with food in hand. House looked even worse, he was paler and a small sheen of sweat showed on his face. House's hand were folded in his lap and trembling slightly. Wilson mentally went through House's visible symptoms and found that they were all consistent with hypoglycemia: fatigue, trembling, paleness, dizziness, and sweating. Irritability was also a main symptom, but with House it was impossible to tell whether he was just being House, or whether it was a symptom.

"House?" Wilson asked, motion towards the food in his hands.

House opened one eye, and acknowledged Wilson's presence.

"Just leave it there." House said. Wilson continued to look at House expectantly, and when House just stared back he left the room with an exasperated sigh. Wilson debated with himself over what to do with House. He was concerned, but decided that he could come back in an hour. If it was hypoglycemia and House ate something, he should look a lot better by then. If he still looked bad, Wilson would give House a choice: check himself into the hospital, or let Wilson examine him.

House laid on the couch with his eyes closed. There was a dull ache in his chest that burned with every breath he took, his leg throbbed mercilessly, and he felt tired and achy. He took the bottle of Vicoden out of his pocket, and reached down into it. His hand was trembling so badly that he split almost the whole bottle. With a growl of frustration, he threw the bottle across the room. He leaned back against the couch and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Wilson had been caught up in an emergency with one of his patients, so it was nearly two hours before he went back to check on House. Glancing into House's office, he saw that House looked worse. He walked away from the office, instead going to the supply closet. He grabbed a hypodermic needle, the kind that is used to draw blood, and a piece of gauze. He headed back towards House's office and quietly walked in. He tiptoed over to where House was asleep and squatted down next to couch. He laid two fingers on House's throat, feeling for a pulse. Finding it, he frowned. It was steady, but weaker then normal. He then took House's arm and pulled it towards him, holding it securely with one hand. With the other he deftly slipped the needle into the vein in House's elbow. The pinch of the needle piercing skin woke House up instantly. House looked at Wilson with bleary eyes, before shouting loudly,

"What the hell!" House tried to jerk his arm away, but Wilson had it firmly restrained in his hand. Wilson quickly filled the rest of the syringe with blood and brought the needle out of House's arm. Just as House jumped up from the couch, Lisa Cuddy burst into the office.


	3. Diagnosis B

**A/N: I know, I know, it was a cliffie and I took a while to update and...I'm sorry! I was busy and then I tried to add the next chapter but for some reason my computer was not cooperating. I finally decided to just do it on my laptop, which is a pain because half the keys from the keyboard are missing. Anyways, I'm really happy with all the reveiws, and I'm glad that everyone is enjoying the story. This is my first House, MD fic so its very exciting to get over 1000 hits! I'll try and put up the next chapter tomorrow night if I get enough reveiws. **

_Mega thanks to Emerald124, erdeanduncan, SnowySleigh, Dr. Fantabulous, boredum, gm, NidrianRuuthane, AngelFirenze, Aqua Mage, hollywoodgal, Courtney, Wynii, and Izzfrogger._

_ Also...thank you to those who corrected my mispelling of Vicodin, I corrected it for future chapters._

**Diagnosis B**

"Why aren't you at the clin..." She stopped mid sentence as she surveyed the scene in front of her: Wilson holding a needle full of blood and House with small drops of blood dripping down his arm.

"What is going on here?" Cuddy demanded an explanation.

"I was just going to ask him the same thing!" House exploded, pointing at Wilson.

"House, you're sick. You're pale, shaky, sweating yet clammy, and dizzy. You're probably right and its hypoglycemia, and if you had eaten something I wouldn't have felt the need to test your blood sugar. You know how upset we would all be if you weren't around to patronize us anymore." Wilson explained, ignoring House's look. If looks cold kill, then Wilson would be lying on the floor with his internal organs scattered around him and with his flesh stripped from his bones.

"Hypoglycemia? More likely it's an excuse to get out of clinic duty. House, I want you to sober up, eat something, and report to the clinic tomorrow. Now go home." Cuddy ordered house. House took about three stumbling steps before he collapsed. Cameron, who had just walked into House's office, was closest and barely managed to catch him. She looked at House with concern and confusion, and looked to Wilson and Cuddy for help. Cuddy looked around the small office as if an answer might appear out of nowhere, and amazingly it did. She spotted the empty pill bottle lying in the corner of the room and walked over to get it while Wilson called for a stretcher, ignoring House's half-coherent protests.

Cuddy studied the empty bottle, and felt a sense of dread when she saw the refill date.

"House, this prescription was refilled yesterday." Cuddy said. Seeing Cameron and Wilson's confused looks, she added "its empty!"

Wilson's face turned white as he realized the implication of what she was saying. A Vicodin overdose could be very deadly, which is why doctors discouraged patients from taking more then the recommended dose. Cuddy gave House a disgusted look before turning to Cameron and saying "Take him down to the ER. Get his stomach pumped, and then get him checked into psych." Seeing Cameron's shocked expression, she continued, "Doctors don't get to use the 'I didn't know that much could kill me' excuse. It's either a suicide attempt or a cry for attention and quite frankly, House doesn't seem the 'cry for attention' type." Cuddy was halfway out the door before House could get himself propped up against the wall enough to face Cuddy.

"I didn't OD." He said. Seeing Cuddy's disbelieving expression his glare hardened. "If I were really going to kill myself, don't think I would find a better place to do it then in the middle of a hospital!"

"Quite frankly House, you have never made any sense to me. Where you want to kill yourself is...House?" Halfway through Cuddy's lecture, House's eyes had gone out of focus. He started to dry heave, and took a few stuttering steps towards the trashcan. Cameron rushed forward to support him, but House shoved her back roughly. He leaned over the trashcan, hacking into it. Wilson stepped forward to grab House, but recoiled when he saw the massive amounts of blood House was coughing up.


	4. Diagnosis C

**A/N: Once again, really sorry about the ong update time. For some reason my computers were not letting me post new chaoters on Anways, here is the next chapter. There are two more after that before the story ends, so enjoy. Sorry that the chapters are so short, but I hope you like it anyways. **

_Ultra thanks Angelfirenze, hollywoodgal, Aqua Mage, Emeral124, Lerrinus, SnowySleigh, Izzfrogger, Queen of Blank, wynii, Krows Scared, erdeanduncan, and Rose12345 for reveiwing.  
_

**Diagnosis C**

When the heaves had passed, House leaned back against the wall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his face. He was panting, and barely conscious. He turned to Cuddy and said in a ragged voice, "Still think it's an OD?"

Cuddy opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by the screech of the approaching stretcher, and the questions fired at her by Chase and Foreman who were following in the stretcher's wake. Seeing their boss half conscious, they quickly stepped forward and together lifted him onto the stretcher.

Cameron snapped back into work mode, and informed Chase and Foreman, in a barley controlled voice voice, "He's coughing up blood."

"Differential diagnosis?" Foreman inquired, as he fumbled for his stethoscope.

"Initial diagnosis of hypoglycemia was proven inncorrect, as was the secondary diagnosis of a Vicodin overdose." Cameron responded, leaning over the fast moving stretcher to take House's pulse.

"Who diagnosed?" Chase asked in interest and surprise.

"Initial diagnosis done by Dr. Wilson, secondary diagnosis by Dr. Cuddy." Cameron once again said.

"What about internal bleeding?" Cuddy suggested as she ran to keep up with the stretcher.

"How though? He doesn't even go for walks, and it's not like he does any dangerous sports." Chase responded.

"Someone probably beat him up." Wilson suggested helpfully. Foreman seemed to carefully consider that option, and turned to a half conscious House.

"House, when was the last time you were beat up?" House just glared at him over the oxygen mask that had been placed on his face. Suddenly House's expression changed from one of pain and intense annoyance, to one of realization. He reached up with the hand that had not been used as a pincushion to push the oxygen mask down from his face, ignoring Wilson's dirty look.

"Oh shit." House said, causing everyone to start in surprise. They had not realized he was actually coherent, assuming that his glare was just his face's default expression.

"What?" Cameron asked with dread.

"I fell off the roof." Wilson, Cuddy, Cameron, Chase, and Foreman looked at each other in confusion.

"Is he delirious?" Chase finally asked.

"Hello? 'He' is right here. I fell off the roof of my house last night, onto my back. The ladder came crashing down after it, and landed on my stomach. That could cause a ruptured spleen, which explains the internal bleeding. A broken rib can puncture a lung; blood seeps into the lungs, and is then coughed back up. It fits perfectly." House said, in a raspy voice yet not without its usual sarcasm.

"House, listen to me, this is very important. Does your chest hurt?" Chase asked, leaning over House's face.

"No, I'm just clutching it tightly because it tickles."

Chase sighed in exasperation and in relief. They had reached the ER. He glanced back down at House to ask him another question, only to find that House had finally passed out from blood loss.

"Get him stabilized. I'll go schedule an OR." Cuddy ordered.


	5. Panic

**A/N: I'm really excited that I have reached 50 reveiws! Woot-woot! Also I have editted a few careless mistakes from the story's summary. Anways, I have been thinking about writing an epilogue chapter, because I think the way I planned the story to end would have been too abrupt. Also, my explanation for this chapter is that up until this part even though House was dying, it wa still humorous. I wanted at least on angsty chapter to remind everyone that he did almost die. Of course, I want my snarky House back so I can;t leave him like this for too long.  
**

_Super thanks to __Angelfirenze, hollywoodgal, Graveofthefireflies, Dr. Fantabulous, izzfrogger, lerrinus, emeral124, aqua mage, rose1234, snowysleigh, ancelin, nightshade3, obessedwithtabler for reveiwing._

**Panic**

Things moved quickly after that. House was stabilized and taken into surgery where surgeons raced to remove his ruptured spleen and fix his punctured lung. He crashed once, in the middle of the surgery, but otherwise came through the surgery as well as could be expected.

House heard a faint buzzing in his ears, but otherwise felt nothing at all. He was floating, and he was getting bored. He tried to hone in on his surroundings, and the first thing he was actually aware of was the pain in his chest. It was a dull ache, but it was enough to bring him back to reality. Suddenly everything returned to him, and he realized that he must be waking up from surgery. He then realized something else, and immediately wished he had not: he was intubated.

A thick plastic tube was snaked down his throat and through his windpipe, pumping air into his lungs. A clunky contraption held it in his mouth, and a thick cord ran snuggly around his head holding the tube securely in place. Air was being forced into his lungs and he could hear the hissing of the machine as it pumped oxygen in and down his trachea. His initial reaction was to fight the tube, determinedly drawing breaths against the rhythm of the machine. He exhaled as it pushed air in, and inhaled as it sucked air out. He felt himself choking, and started to panic from the lack of oxygen. He tried to turn his head but the tube down his throat prevented him from doing so. He raised one hand, accidentally hitting something before he was able to guide his hand to the tube. His fingers searched for the clasp to undo the binding around his head, but he could not find it. His panic was replaced with frustration and he decided a change of tactics was in order. Instead, he grabbed the tube directly and was about to yank it out when a strong hand gripped his wrist and guided firmly back down to the hospital bed he was lying on.

Wilson's face loomed over him, a mix of emotions evident on his features. His hair was ruffled, eyes slightly bloodshot, stumble apparent on his face, and his shirt was wrinkled. It was a huge contrast from the normally impeccable appearance of Dr. James Wilson.

"House, you're on a ventilator to help you breathe. You need to leave the tube alone. Just try and relax and breathe with the machine, don't fight it." Wilson said in his calm voice, the one he used with patients and the one he rarely used with House.

House's look of panic in House's eyes disappeared instantly and was replaced by a question. Wilson immediately guessed what House was thinking and started to speak.

"You were right. You had a ruptured spleen and were bleeding out pretty badly. You also had one cracked and two broken ribs, one of which punctured your left lung." Seeing that House was keeping his hand on the bed, Wilson released it from his grasp and continued. "You were aspirating blood from the punctured lung in your office, but it only collapsed right after we got you into the ER. You crashed once in the OR, right in the middle of the surgery and they had to shock you. They got you stabilized and removed your spleen, stitched up your lung and set your ribs. I think they used up about half the blood in this hospital just to get you stabilized. You also had a bad bruise on your right lung from the other broken rib, but you were very lucky. If your other rib had punctured your right lung, it would have been a lot worse. House, what are you... HOUSE!"

House once again reached up and this time almost succeeded in pulling out the tube. This time, when Wilson once again pinned House's arm back down to the bed House reached up and used the other hand to try and pull out the tube. Wilson barely managed to restrain House's other hand and Wilson ended up almost straddling House on the hospital bed. House kept fighting Wilson, glaring harshly at him and frowning around the tube.

"House, stop it. If you don't cut it out I'll restrain you." House stared back at Wilson challengingly, daring him to. With a reluctant sigh, Wilson pulled out two wrist restraints from under the hospital bed. He picked up one and buckled it around House's wrist. House stared at Wilson incredulously, and when he realized that House was seriously going to do it he started to flail on the bed. He tried to jerk his wrist back but it was too late, Wilson had already buckled the restraint around the side of the bed effectively pinning one hand to the bed.

With swiftness House did not know Wilson possessed, he snatched House's other wrist. House desperately tried to twist out of Wilson's grip and succeeded in evading Wilson's hand. He seized that opportunity to grab the tube securely and yanked hard. This time he succeeded in pulling out the tube and he gagged at the tube came up his throat. The strap around his head prevented it form coming out completely, instead leaving it dangling in the back of his throat.

Almost instantly House felt like it was hard to breathe. The pain in his chest magnified and his throat burned as he gagged on the tube. House's free hand grabbed the tube harder and tried to pull it but he could not, the strap around his head was fastened too securely.

Instantly Wilson was in motion. He fought with House, using all his weight to strap House's free hand to the bed. He hurriedly fastened the restraint tightly around House's wrist and then, as a precaution, tightened the other one. He shifted his weight so that he was almost sitting on House, pinning House's shoulders and upper body to the mattress between him. Wilson then had his hands free to unstrap the binding around House's head and extubate House properly. He then grabbed the intubation kit lying next to him and took out a fresh tube. He took out the tube and quickly re-intubated House, sliding the tube down House's throat. House's body struggled beneath him, the self-preservation instinct taking over as House fought to rid his body of the intrusion. He jerked against the restraints; every nerve in his body was tense. Wilson stepped back form House, but even intubated House was so wired that his pulse ox was dropping. Wilson reached over to the supply drawer and grabbed a syringe. He raised the needle to House's IV port and injected 5 mg of Ativan. Almost instantly House's body relaxed and he lay limp on the bed.


	6. Of all the Stupid Ways to Get Hurt

**A/N: I did do research on the web, but obviously some of it wa incorrect (thank you reveiwers...:-P).I apologize, but I am not a doctor and the only medical exposure I have had was my 9th grade bio class. This is supposed to be that last chapter, but if I get enough reveiws I'll add an epilogue. **

_Gazillion thanks to all my reveiwers! I would love to list you all but I'm in a rush...and I thought you would rather have a chapter a day sooner then a day later with all your guys names on the top. ENJOY!_

**Of all the Stupid Ways to get Hurt...**

This time when House woke up he was no longer strapped down to the bed, nor was he intubated. His throat now hurt as much as his chest, but it was a small price to pay to able to breathe at his own pace. An oxygen mask now resided over his nose and mouth and House hastily reached up to pull it off. This time it was Cameron who was next to him, and she started awake at House's sudden movement.

"You shouldn't..." Cameron started to say, but gave up when she saw the look on Houses face, knowing it would be pointless.

House tried to speak but all that came out was a rasping noise. Cameron reached over the table next to his bed and picked up a cup of water. She started to lower it towards his mouth but House grumpily reached up and grabbed it from her hand, glaring at her. He sat up, propping himself on his elbow, completely ignoring Cameron's protests. He took a long sip of water and then put the glass back on the table.

"So I'm assuming it was brain cancer, right?" House said abruptly.

"What?" Cameron asked, confused.

"The new patient that Foreman and Wilson are treating." House said impatiently.

Cameron just gaped at him for a second before finding her voice.

"How did you know...?"

"Simple. Wilson's one of those obscenely mushy friends so only someone else dying would keep him from standing where you are and impersonating Florence Nightingale. Chase has been sitting with you for the past few hours and only left because he ran out of perfume. On the other hand, Foreman hasn't been by at all and because he likes his job so much he should have come by here to make sure I, his boss, was still living. Wilson gone tells me its cancer, Foreman gone tells be it has to do with the brain, so voila: brain cancer."

Cameron took a minute to process that and proceeded to punch holes in his explanation.

"How do you know Chase was here for that long? And how do you know Foreman hasn't come by?"

"Didn't I just say Chase left because he ran out of perfume? I know he was here because I can still smell his wombat aroma, perfume and all. I know Foreman wasn't here because I can't smell his cologne, which is actually quite a shame since his stuff blocks out whatever suffocatingly sweet perfume you slather on yourself."

Cameron looked at House incredulously.

"You got all that from...sniffing the room?"

"Sure, why not. Either that or I overheard you talking to Chase; take your pick. But the whole perfume/cologne thing still stands!" House insisted.

Cameron leaned over to raise the head of bed into a sitting position and House leaned back with his hands behind his head. The position pulled at his stitched and we winced slightly, repositioning him into a more comfortable position. Cameron seemed to feel that she needed to say something about how he should really be resting, but managed to contain herself.

"So..." House said, breaking the silence. "How long until the cavalry gets here?"

Cameron followed House's gaze and realized that it was resting on the pager in her hands. Cuddy, Wilson, Foreman, and Chase had all asked her to let them know when House was conscious, and so she had paged them while House wasn't looking hoping that his morphine induced stupor was strong enough to let her movements pass by her normally hyper observant boss, but apparently not.

Cameron opened her mouth to respond but was cut off once again by House.

"And three...two...one..." House snapped his fingers as Cuddy, Wilson, Chase and Foreman all poured noisily into the room. House turned to Cameron and said in a stage whisper, "See what I mean about cavalry?"

All of the occupants of the room, excluding House, looked happy to see him awake although they all showed it in different ways. Wilson and Cameron were openly beaming like proud parents, Chase had a smile grin on his face, Foreman's mouth was quirked upwards slightly and Cuddy...well she wasn't yelling at House and she had a pleasant expression on her face, one she rarely used without House's mouth being taped shut.

Everyone seemed at a loss for words, because none of them knew how to ask the question they all wanted answered. Finally Wilson just came out and asked it.

"What the hell were you doing on your roof?" He exclaimed, voicing the question everyone wanted answered.

House seemed confused for a second before actually looking slightly sheepish.

"It's funny actually. See there was this woodpecker that somehow got its foot stuck in the shingles on my roof. I heard it pecking away and when I saw it was stuck I climbed up and... freed it. I actually tried to just kill it first but it was moving around too much so I couldn't squish it. I lost my balance coming down when the damn thing flew at my face."

Everyone in the room just stared at House with varying looks of amazement, confusion, pity, and shock on their faces. Foreman was the first to speak next.

"So you won't go get a human patient's history, but you will climb up onto your roof to free a bird?"

"God no!" House responded. "I just wanted to get it to shut up. General Hospital was on and I couldn't here a damn thing because of the bird."

"So you climbed up on your roof with a bum leg to murder a bird just to watch a soap opera?" Chase reiterated slowly.

"Yup."

"And you didn't notice that you had broken two ribs?" Cuddy asked.

"Its called Vicodin Cuddy, Vicodin." House responded.

"Of course. With the Vicodin he takes for his leg, the broken ribs would probably have just felt sore. And the internal bleeding wouldn't have presented with symptoms for around another day at least." Cameron said.

"So it really took you guys three tries to diagnose bleeding out with internal bleeding? Obviously I haven't been tough enough. Well, at least you'll get practice while you do my clinic hours for me during my recovery." House leaned back deeper into the pillows, looking very satisfied.

"Of course! The next time a patient comes in looking pale the first thing we'll think is 'jee, he must have fallen off his roof while trying to kill a bird for interrupting his soap opera!" Foreman exclaimed sarcastically.

"Exactly!" House said, smiling back.

From the corner of the room, House could here Wilson mutter, "I still say he got beat up."


	7. Guilt Trips Never End Happily

**A/N: I decided to add an epilogue because I got so many reviews and I really want this story to hit 100 reviews, which would be a first for me. Sorry it took so long, but this chapter, unlike the others, were not already written since I did not plan to do it. Anyways, I hope you like it and please review.**

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed, whether for one chapter or for all. I appreciate it so much and because of you guys I'll finally have a fic that has 100 reviews. You guys rock!  
_

"So..." Wilson began nervously, "How are you feeling?"

House glared up at the man that had just entered his hospital room.

"Just peachy. Aside from the whole almost bleeding to death thing." House spat back.

"Oh so now it's my fault you fell off a roof?"

"No, it's your fault that my best friend didn't try and defend my sanity. You know, maybe think, 'gee, is it possible that he isn't suicidal?' Even after the infarction you didn't think I was suicidal!"

Wilson stared down at the ground. "I'm...I'm sorry. Okay House? I'm sorry."

As Wilson stormed out of the room, House grinned widely. He knew that Wilson would send in a nurse shortly with his clothes and cane, which had been confiscated to prevent his escape. Guilting Wilson was always the best way to go when he needed something.

Sure enough, House was dressed and limping out the door, moving slowly and carefully. He managed to make it to the parking lot where he saw Wilson standing next to his motorcycle, keys in hand. House snatched the keys from his hand and drove home.

He settled himself on the couch and happily turned on the TV. The relaxing sounds of General Hospital filled the room, and House allowed himself to be lulled into a state of peace by the familiarity, when suddenly he heard a loud knocking coming from his roof, sounding awfully like a woodpecker.

Cameron had gone in to check on House only to find him missing. She had immediately gone to Cuddy's office, hoping she had seen House. Cuddy just shook her head, grabbed her keys and motioned for Cameron to come with her. They sped out of the parking lot towards House's home, with Foreman and Chase in the backseat, eager to witness the loud yelling match that they were sure was coming. They drove up in front of his house and peered into House's window only to see the TV, and no one in the house.

Only after Wilson had seen House drive away had he probably should stay with House and make sure he didn't do anything stupid, like say, climb up to his roof. Running back into the hospital and grabbing his keys, he drove to House's address and saw Cuddy and the ducklings were already there. Wilson walked up behind and they were all about to break down the door when they heard a loud bang.

They raced around to the side of the house, and saw one Gregory House lying sprawled on the ground with a smoking gun in his hand. He unsteadily got to his feet, glancing down at the gun in amazement.

"Who knew this thing had such a kick to it?" He asked the dumb struck crowd

Suddenly something slid off the roof and landed on Cuddy's shirt, almost falling in the low-cut blouse. It was a woodpecker, dead and bleeding with a bullet wound in its chest. They all looked at House, but he just shrugged his shoulders and responded, "General Hospital was on."


End file.
